The Existential Crisis in a Sundress
The Absurdity in a Sundress with Pockets
I ponder the void while sipping lukewarm iced coffee.
You’ll find me where the air smells like books or lake water — or nowhere at all, really, because I’m more of a mood than a place. I carry smooth stones and existential dread in equal measure. I love the world too much to stop questioning it, and not enough to stop wanting it to make sense. I laugh when the bee lands on the clover, and then I wonder if laughter is just a defense mechanism.
What I'm Into: the weight of stones, clover and bees, Camus at noon, sun-bleached piers, questions with no answer
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